


Benefits

by Jinjo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Reaphog - Freeform, Talon Junkers, Tentacles, Wraith-Form Reaper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinjo/pseuds/Jinjo
Summary: Working with Talon means certain risks, and certain perks.1 Roadhog and Reaper are two older men who make time to fill their needs.2 Roadhog lends Junkrat a hand.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First published erotica, and it's fairly clinical Reaphog. I think that describes a lot about me! Thanks so much for reading. I really love the concept of these two interacting in general, given their parallels and personas. :)
> 
> Made Reaper's form somewhat ambiguous so folks can envision their own headcanons!
> 
> tumblr is jinjopocalypse. whee!

A new association (no job too big) with terrorist organization Talon (no score too small) had its benefits. Namely, some particularly “nifty” upgrades for Junkrat, sorely needed medical attention, and a stable place to sleep and bathe. It was fine. For now. There were perks.

There was a hitch in the rise and fall of Roadhog’s chest as he registered something in the cramped bunkroom. Eyes snapped open; he hefted his weight into a sitting position. Fumbling with sheets, left hand reaching out for the trusty hook that seldom left his side. Even with new digs, some things would never change. His eyes were trained on the darkness but trying to adjust his vision was proving to be impossible. Finally, in his sleep addled state, he realized that this was because the shifting shadows were actually moving. A necrotic haze poured through the crack of the door. Any dim lighting from the adjoining hallway was snuffed out in its murkiness. The forms, thin and lacy at first, solidified from wisps into thick tendrils. Sinew, muscle made of ink and smoke. Roadhog breathed out and swallowed the thick knot that had formed in his throat. The quickly materializing shape in front of him seemed to settle, gaining mass, until finally the indifferent growl of the Reaper echoed from the form.

“Relax.” Pitted black eyes caught the light at last. Glistening just enough to be visible, obscured enough to question just how many eyes were staring back at the man in the bed with laser focus.

“Where’s Jamison?” Roadhog grunted. It was no wonder he was sleeping so soundly before the disturbance – the regular chatter and constant shuffling and twitching from up above was starkly absent tonight. The room was too quiet, and without the muffling quality of his mask, without something between himself and Reaper, he was completely exposed. His voice seemed like a bellow, even at a whisper. Reaper shifted, shoulders moving up and down in something of a brusque laugh as his torso began to sew itself together in the dim light.

“Investigating an entirely spontaneous trash fire on the fifth floor. That should entertain him for a while.” He responded. Reaper slid closer now, legs still obscured in the column of shadow that was quickly puzzling itself into the vaguely humanoid form that made up Roadhog’s senior. The larger man huffed out through his nose, shoulders finally going slack as he sat in anticipation in the bunk. Reaper took the signal, slinking the final short distance between Roadhog and himself in a sudden fluid movement. His wraith-like form followed him like a rushing tide. As the thick physical form of Reaper’s abdomen made contact with his stomach, Roadhog felt a wave against him as something less tangible pushed his legs apart. A low grumbling exhale preceded his fall back against the bed, head nearly smacking against the wall when he landed on his elbows – fists already clenched, face embarrassingly flushed without the detachment of his mask. Then again, he could count one hand either one of them was without their respective masks during one of their covert trysts. The two men were not fraternizing out of sentimentality. They simply had needs that could be conveniently and discreetly filled. Perks of the job.

The tendrils that continued to wrap and writhe around Reaper’s arms, seeking purchase and entrance into his genetic form, began to shift as he made contact with Roadhog’s bare stomach. The tendrils poured, liquid now. It was a dizzying sensation for the prone man, feeling a network of living warmth curl outwards from his stomach as Reaper’s hand slid under his waistband. Everything began to light up all at once. Feeling suddenly out of control, Roadhog could only lift up his hips to allow Reaper to undress him and control his breathing – normally labored, now harsh and shuddering with each breath. Vulnerable, stripped, and utterly human. 

Human or not, the noise that was forced from Roadhog was entirely animalistic as one of the stray tendrils had coalesced around his freed cock, pulsing and then dissolving back into Reaper as he took him in his own bolstered fist and pumped him a few times. He was more or less as whole as he could be in this state without consuming additional organic material. Chalky, mottled patterns of raised flesh made up the patchwork of Reaper’s unclothed form. Always shifting and reforming. A fascination, a sign of Reaper’s legendary power. Hardened from rebirth, a vengeful survivor of the apocalypse, an unrelenting warrior. The younger man wanted it. He whined as the hand around him retreated, and that deep laugh picked back up and went right to his dick.

“Good pig.” The first words either man had spoken hit Roadhog like a goddamn truck. All at once Reaper hefted both of his legs up and yanked him to the edge of the bed, making him slam onto his back with a whoosh of air. He recoiled with a start as something hot and slippery slithered from his field of view over the horizon of his stomach and around his groin and past it. Roadhog groaned, tilted his hips in resistance, and in response Reaper pushed his knees apart in coy warning, rumbling with a satisfied purr. The tendrils made their curious path to Roadhog’s hole, testing – a mind of their own, but not advanced enough to take initiative. Practically overwhelmed already, Roadhog waited and heaved, groaned. He was being teased, cock swelling and tragically untouched. He strained looked over his heaving stomach at Reaper, whose barely visible features registered a grin. The man seemed content to watch, rubbing, kneading and holding Roadhog’s thighs in his sharp hands like a vice grip. But now there was initiative.

Reaper’s hesitance was new. Roadhog’s brow furrowed, face flushing. He let out something of a snarl, pushing his hips insistently towards Reaper to no avail. Roadhog let his head fall back against the wall, face hot, and Reaper sneered. “So quiet.” He growled. He liked that about Roadhog, after all. “Show me what you want.”

Reaper dragged his claws up the sides of Roadhog’s legs and the larger man’s moan echoed through the room. He traced his legs, dug into his sides and his stomach, leaned down to bite harsh, bloody marks and graze the other man’s cock as Roadhog rolled his hips in desperation. The pressure against his ass from the tendrils still dumbly (infuriatingly) kneading against him was driving him wild. A short, brusque grunt: “Fuck me.” He gave in, his hands gripping his cheeks from underneath spreading himself. Immediately, the slick length of the tendrils began to move – spurred by the movement, by the opening. Roadhog’s eyes rolled back as he was filled, slowly, gradually. The peculiar extensions were thin, thinner than fingers but more numerous. They shifted and squelched, eliciting uneven noises of pleasure from Roadhog as they opened him up. He felt himself tense and curl from his grip on his ass to his toes. Reaper just laughed, and lunged inward – handling the man like he was nothing.

Finally, Roadhog felt Reaper’s cock against him. Pressing in, already thick and hot from arousal. The distinct, supernatural sensation that the tendrils were feeding Reaper’s girth had Roadhog releasing himself and clawing at the bedsheets, his groans unsuccessfully stifled by a locked jaw. He was impossibly full. The slow and unending descent inside of him finally reached its halt, with Reaper releasing a hazy breath – a low curse under his breath punctuating bottoming out. Finally, his own hunger was fully realized. Roadhog managed to catch his breath, wheezing – bringing up a huge hand to cover his burning face. Reaper began to move, and he howled.

Even with the slick entrance supplied by the tendrils, Roadhog stuttered, his breathing labored. Vaguely, he felt his partner slowing down, then gentle weight on his stomach and up his chest. Reaper leaned over the huge man, draped across his stomach, barely able to plant soft bites across the surface of his neck. Roadhog could inhale his writhing aura – choking, purifying. He could hardly identify what was happening across his body as the man’s presence fucked all of his senses. Every nerve was alight, his breath shallow and his eyes now screwed tightly shut. There was slick force against his lips that he refused to allow access, slipping around his arms, neck, legs. All pulsing, all warm and fluid. Above it all was the tight, hotness riding up against Roadhog’s prostate. Muffled cries from under Reaper’s embrace proved to the mercenary that his partner was close. Reaper reared back and stabilized himself, pounding Roadhog with gusto and releasing long, twisted moans of his own while the younger man clutched for dear life and roared underneath him. In a jolt of lust and inspiration, Roadhog wrapped one of his hands not hanging onto the bed to support around his own swollen cock, rolling down the dripping pre-come on the head and pumping with animalistic vigor. There was no rhythm to the movement of his body – having relinquished all control to his overcharged senses and his senior, at last the furious ministrations brought Roadhog to a roaring orgasm. Stripes painting the length of his stomach spurred more movement from Reaper, who followed shortly as his form flickered under duress of his own release. Roadhog rumbled unhappily as he felt his insides fill with – whatever Reaper was supplying – but in his current state of electric overload, he was pressed to care. The spasming of his muscles sent shivers through his entire body, and even when he finally relaxed the man had little perception of what exactly just happened.

Reaper braced one hand and pulled out with a guttural sigh. “Mm.” His head bobbed gently in Roadhog’s direction, and the sentiment was reciprocated.

The silence was palpable. Roadhog dwelled in it, but his partner was used to more conversational company, so the come-down always held a certain level of discomfort – particularly on-base. “Thanks.” Roadhog grumbled. He wiped down his sweat-soaked face, realizing how intensely he probably smelled of sex. “Gonna go shower.”

In a manner that could be considered sheepish, the larger man pulled his underwear back on and wiped down his stomach, digging around under his bunk for the box of tissues he stored there and avoiding the various things that Junkrat had either dropped from his top bunk or stashed underneath.

“Right.” Reaper’s form was rapidly deteriorating after the activity. A pair of eyes looked at him through the smog. “I’m traveling internationally starting early today for the Prague mission. I’ll be back next week.”

“See you.” Roadhog gave him another upwards nod and looked down, pretending to find something else under the bed as the shadowy form filtered entirely out of the room. He finally glanced up, and sat properly on the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees – palms of his hands pressed against his still-too-warm face as he released a sigh. A moment more before returning to reality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat comes back worse for wear; Roadhog helps out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted cuddling and I just love writing about the relationship between these two, so I couldn't leave it alone. @w@

Sweet silence. Drifting off after a shower and satisfying sex was having a dreamy effect on Roadhog, nestled back in his bunk tired and fresh. Of course, it was fated to end. The gentle slide of the door on rails made his ears perk up – and the familiar sound that followed was an expected peal that never garnered any sleep at all. Junkrat was back.

“Oi… You awake, ‘Hog?” Junkrat swaggered through the door, only two steps in and already asking inane questions. Roadhog squeezed his eyelids harder before releasing an exasperated breath and opening them. Junkrat’s scrawny frame came into view, silhouetted by the hall light for a moment before the door automatically shut. There was something odd, however, and it took a moment for Roadhog’s eyes to adjust to realize exactly what.

“Junkrat. What happened to your…?”

In addition to his regular crispy state of disarray, Junkrat looked beaten all to hell. One eye half-swollen shut with a hell of a shiner, some dried blood crusting one of his ears. Above all, his peg leg looked to have been bent and re-positioned in a half-assed attempt to fix it but instead making him look and walk like a broken marionette. His grin was crooked – in the light Roadhog couldn’t tell if one of his teeth had been knocked out as he laughed.

“Turns out trained killer ladies don’t like me bein’ in their loo, y’see? But, I was just tryin’ to help, promise, ‘Hog. There was – there was a fire!”

Roadhog watched Junkrat limp across the room, jabbering as he fumbled his belongings and attempted to disrobe on the way to his bunk. His tremors seemed more intense than usual, enough to warrant Roadhog leaning up in his bunk on an elbow with a certain modicum of concern. Was his tryst the cause, or had Junkrat just gone out of bounds like an idiot? He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a hand as Junkrat rattled on, saying something about booby traps and kung fu and “I didn’t know a person could bend like that- you think she could teach me?”, before finally he settled into a giggling hum in the corner of the room. The familiar sounds of Junkrat beginning to shuck off his prosthetics put Roadhog at ease.

“Nnf… GrrrAH!” A squeal, a grunt. Even with his two available arms, the damage to his peg was making removing it a pain. Junkrat investigated the inside of the knee, putting pressure on his thigh and wincing. Tears shot into his eyes. “Aw, fuck. Fuck me right, aw, Hog.”

Struggling, shuffling. Roadhog rolled onto his side to try and see what was happening. Zero to ten. Junkrat was grinding his teeth. Suddenly, something seemed to sink in with him, and his motions became even more erratic. Without warning, he slammed his robotic hand down onto the mechanism, eliciting a spark but not much else. Again, again. Roadhog shot back up with a loud bark. “Hey!”

Junkrat’s head swiveled towards him, eyes wide like a startled animal. “Hog—“

“You’ll break it. Talon’ll be pissed. Calm down.”

The words seemed to upset the younger junker further, who pressed his nails into his forehead in response. “It’s already gone and broke! They’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, Hog, not like I can fix this overnight, it ain’t my own work or anything, piece of scrap…! Now they’ve got us, they’ll collect, they’ll skin us!”

“Hey.” Roadhog repeated, and Junkrat shut up with a bubbling stutter. “They won’t. You’ve got your old leg right here. It’s fuckin’ under my bed. C’mere.”

Still a wounded animal, the junker stood up and shuffled over to Roadhog – wearing nothing but his birthday suit, no less. Whichever agent scrambled Junkrat’s brain did a damn thorough job, Roadhog thought. “Sit.”

Junkrat obeyed, wincing as he gingerly positioned his leg for Roadhog to examine. It was just as bad as he had thought. Slick black forms and Talon’s signature symbols were still alien to both men, the technology unfamiliar and at odds with the analog scrapped-together style the two shared. For now, it would absolutely have to go. The connections had all been disengaged, but the ports were jammed and twisted. Locked. No wonder the disconnection was so painful. Roadhog growled at the handiwork, subconsciously brought a hand up to massage the nape of Junkrat’s neck in sympathy. The sensation of the thin body relaxing against his was a good sign. Roadhog braced both hands now around the connection and with one herculean twist, felt the metal come apart underneath his hands. Junkrat wailed, eyes tight shut against his chest as Roadhog tossed the piece of metal to the floor and tenderly began to separate the components of his partner’s forearm prosthetic.

“I can get it,” Junkrat complained. He fidgeted under Roadhog’s grip until he won out, his bodyguard conceding and watching him take care in slowly disengaging from his forearm – investigating the port, massaging his elbow, sighing. Junkrat scratched at his shoulder, then his fingers made his way up to his mouth. Chewing. A bad sign. Roadhog intercepted his hand, held his thin bony fingers in one massive palm.

“We should paint nails tomorrow. No mission.” He appraised the radiation bruised nails in front of him. “Ours both look like shit.”

To that, Junkrat grinned. A familiar giggle seemed to boil up inside of him, but the weight of the night and his painful escapades was proving victorious. “Right. Well, I –“

“You’re staying here.”

Junkrat blinked, but Roadhog was already dragging him down as he flopped back over onto the bed. There was no way he’d let the rat chew his own hand off tonight – he didn’t have many limbs left to lose, anyway. “Smells weird in here. Nasty.” Junkrat grumbled. Either way, he scrambled around for purchase on the sheets and wrapped himself up. He’d barely registered the proximity of his fingers to his teeth before Roadhog snatched his hand away (a vice grip this time). They were face to face – Roadhog laced their fingers together, presenting a final look of exhausted warning before he began to drift.

“Thanks, ‘Hog.”

“Mm.”


End file.
